Sometimes They Come Back
by Kassidy62
Summary: Jaydick (explicit); Jason Todd/Dick Grayson / First in a series of three stories. Bruce thinks Jason has crossed the line. He has no idea how far Jason will go. (Or: Jason has a backup plan.) It's dark stuff. Be wary.
1. Chapter 1

It was 3:00 AM when Dick spotted the motionless body on the street outside his apartment.

He'd been hurt worse than he'd let on to either Bruce or Alfred. Bruce had enough on his mind—and if Alfred knew something then so did Bruce, so that was out. Dick didn't want to be fussed over, anyway.

Alfred drove him home in the near silence, Dick trying to keep the pain he felt from his expression. Alfred eyeballed him because Dick was never quiet, but refrained from asking questions (another of his many talents, knowing when not to pry).

At the apartment, Dick undressed, noting without surprise the massive black and blue bruising (matched his costume, how fashionable) all up and down the side of his body. But bruising was all it was, plus the leg injury of course. Looked like shit, but still nothing serious.

He stared at himself naked in the hallway mirror, lost in thought. He hadn't been able to brace himself in time for the body-meets-ground introduction the Red Hood had set up by blowing the train station. Dick was irritated—if there was anything he could do, it was stick a landing—but not this time. He'd definitely like a rematch with the Red Hood, make a better showing for himself. And let's face it, he was intrigued with the new mystery guy's skill set.

He shook his head. A man like that, trying to take over as Gotham's top crime lord, well ... it wouldn't be long before they'd meet again. Dick lived in the next town over.

He threw on a pair of worn black sweats and decided to give resting his best shot. All he needed was a little down time to heal.

Which was kind of the trouble, Dick conceded a half hour later. Lying around wasn't exactly his strong suit, especially after an adrenaline-filled night. Plus his body was sore as hell and stiffer than a ninety year-old's. Made it hard to get comfortable enough _to_ rest.

He took some aspirin and settled on the couch, but sleep wouldn't come. He couldn't turn his brain off. As taciturn as Bruce was, Dick knew he was hiding something the minute the man had thanked him. For anybody else, sure, that was normal, but Batman the Impassive? No way, and he especially wouldn't bother to thank his first boy wonder. It's just not how Bruce was with Dick.

He stilled. Something—there was something there in that train of thought. Dick tried to follow it, but nothing.

What was Bruce keeping from him?

And that was the point at which Dick dragged himself restlessly to the window and looked out to see a body sprawled half-on, half-off the sidewalk of the otherwise deserted street.

He hoofed it out to the body, limping, concrete cold against his feet, air chilly against his naked chest. A man lay on his side on the concrete, dark hair hanging over his face.

Dick slowed as he drew closer. He stared, blood roaring in his ears. Could it—no, it'd been five years—he was _dead_—

He strode closer and brushed the hair from the man's face. He fell to his knees.

It was Jason. Older, broader through the shoulders, lax body huddled to the pavement.

But he couldn't be here, the Joker had beaten him brutally and blown the damn building after—

"Jason?" Dick whispered. His hand hovered, lowered to Jason's chest. Felt the heartbeat beneath his hand. "How did—God, _Jason_, it's me, Dick."

Jason opened one swollen green eye, blinked and opened both, so slow. He couldn't seem to focus. He had a cut on his cheek and another on his hand.

"Can you move?" Dick asked. "Do you need an ambulance?"

"No, please no—" Jason's hand shot out, grasped the hand over his heart. Blood dripped from a cut. A smooth cut, so either a sharp knife or glass was the likely culprit.

Dick felt a tremor in the fingers closed over his own. "It's okay, Jase, it's all right. How badly are you hurt?" He brushed his other hand over Jason's cheek, felt him turn into it as if starved for touch. His chest tightened in sympathy.

"I gotta get off the street. Help me—" Jason rasped.

"Take it easy, I got you. First you have to tell me if anything's broken."

"Nothing's broken."

"Good. Head or spine injury, you think?"

"No! There's no time!" Jason gasped.

Dick turned his palm over, squeezing Jason's hand. "Okay. Hold on, Jason. I'm getting you up." Slowly and carefully, Dick hauled Jason to a standing position, supporting him with an arm around him. "Ready?"

Jason nodded, then staggered. "Just get me upstairs!"

Dick shrugged. "You're the boss," he said, and swung Jason over his shoulders into a fireman's carry, nearly staggering himself. In the heat of the moment he'd forgotten his own injuries. He squared his shoulders and straightened.

Jason's body tensed against his, but he didn't speak beyond a soft _oh shit_ uttered under his breath.

Dick grinned and carried him upstairs, trying not to let the injured leg give out beneath him. In the apartment he placed Jason gently on the living room couch.

Jason glared up at him. "I'm not breakable."

"I don't know what you are. For God's sake, we thought you were dead! What's happened to you?"

Jason winced and closed his eyes wearily. His skin was pale, his black hair messy, but aside from the paleness he looked in good shape.

"Hey, sorry. You, uh, need some water or something?"

"Sure, thanks." Jason kept his eyes closed. His body curved in on itself as if he couldn't relax. He looked oddly vulnerable—uncommon with the ordinarily outspoken Jason.

Dick looked him over. Jason wore jeans, boots, T-shirt and a jacket. They were well-worn, faded. From what Dick could see, Jason carried no weapons or items of self-defense. It wasn't possible to know for sure with the army jacket, but Dick couldn't spot any tell-tale bulges.

Jason's eyes opened, grew wider and glassy as he looked over the apartment. It wasn't until he looked at Dick again that he relaxed. Something was very wrong.

"Sorry. Water," Dick said, and went to the kitchen to bring him a glass.

Jason sat up in the corner of the couch when Dick returned, seeming to shrink back into the cushions. He looked at Dick with haunted green eyes.

Dick sat down on the coffee table across from him, handing over the water glass. He hesitated. "You're not—you're not afraid of me, are you?"

Jason glared at him, sputtering water. "Stupid question, Grayson. You think you can get the jump on me?"

Dick grinned. "That's better. Now tell me what happened to you."

Jason drained his glass, glancing at Dick. "How in hell do I even begin? Five _years_, I—" he shrugged.

"The warehouse with the Joker. Start there."

Jason tensed. "I died."

"And yet here you are," Dick said in measured tones.

Jason looked up. "You glad of it or not?"

"Stupid question, Todd. Really damn stupid. Now talk."

Jason nodded, a trace of a smile flitting on his face. "Ra's Al Ghul tried to screw with the European economy, but Batman and I were onto him. So he hired the Joker to distract us. It worked. You know what happened next." Jason shuddered. His face wrenched, a rubbery, horrific grimace, passing in a blink.

Dick did a double-take, drawing back. Too late to suppress his reaction. For an instant Jason had looked like a cartoon caricature, barely even human_. _

_What the hell happened to you, Jason?_

Jason watched him, eyes dark. He'd seen Dick's reaction.

Dick gave him an apologetic look and nodded, encouraging Jason to go on.

"It wasn't part of Ra's plan for me to die. He said it was _unnecessary_," Jason said bitterly. "So he stole my body and took it with him to the Lazarus Pit, a place where he rejuvenates. It literally gives him life. He thought it might do the same for me, and it did, except—" Jason looked away again, miserable. "It—something about the place—it was too much. Next thing I know, I'm waking up with a thousand memories in my head shouting at me all at the same time. My head just fucking _exploded,_ Dick. I was, you know, kind of … batshit." He looked at Dick and smiled.

A shiver ran down Dick's back. He'd never seen anything deader.

"I ran. Right through Ra's' window and off the cliff. Ra's couldn't find me. I guess he thought I was dead." He shrugged. "I wasn't dead, I was crazy. For a long time. Years. I don't know anything much after that. Just vague impressions. Then the Red Hood found me. He's fed me, gave me meds. Kept me captive. Tonight I escaped. Jumped through another window, how's that for fun?"

Dick shook his head grimly. "Not much. The Red Hood? That guy's all over the place lately. How did he find you?"

Jason shook his head, eyes pleading. "I don't know."

Dick frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Just what I said. But he means to use me against Bruce." Jason's face hardened at Dick's expression. "I wouldn't hurt Bruce, dammit. The Red Hood knows who I am—a bargaining chip. He'll try to kill him." He stood. "And we can't let that happen."

Dick put a hand on Jason's shoulder. "We won't. We need to call Bruce."

Jason stepped away from the touch. "Don't you think the news of me being alive, of Red Hood threatening to kill me all over again, might be a distraction? A very dangerous distraction? We can't risk it. I need to lay low until this is over."

"And what if the Red Hood finds you again?"

"He won't if you'll let me stay with you." Jason's eyes widened, roving over Dick's torso, finally noticing the mottled, deep bruises down Dick's chest and side. "What happened to you? And you're limping!"

Dick made a wry face. "Speaking of the Red Hood."

"He did that?" Jason stepped closer, inspecting the bruises.

"He's a busy guy. He blew up a train station with Bruce and I as part of the fallout."

Jason grabbed Dick's wrist. "Bruce is okay?"

"He's fine. We're both fine."

Jason huffed. "Wow. You're fine, huh?" He looked pointedly at Dick's bare chest.

Dick ignored the look. "I don't agree with you. Bruce should know." He held up a hand, forestalling Jason's answer. "He can handle the Red Hood. But I'll go along for now." He stepped closer slowly, giving Jason time to draw away. Jason stayed still. Carefully, Dick wrapped his arms around Jason and hugged him. "I'm glad you're home, Jason."

Jason held Dick's arms beneath his hands. "Me too." He pulled Dick closer and kissed him on the mouth.

Dick's body stiffened in shock. He stepped out of the circle of Jason's arms. "Jason, what is this?" he asked, low.

Jason flushed. For a moment he appeared near to panic, uncomprehending. "You don't want—that?"

Dick opened his mouth. He didn't know how to respond. "When have I ever?" he said at last.

Jason stepped closer. "Don't you remember—"

"Remember _what_?"

Jason looked as if he'd been slapped.

Dick raised a placating hand. "Jason—yeah, I remember a kiss. A long time ago when you were too damn young, all right? But we both decided to put that behind us. We're brothers."

"We're not," Jason said, slow and deliberate, eyes dark with anger. "We were always something else. I knew it, and so did the Joker. So did you."

It was like a thunderclap filling the room, massive, unexpected. "Why would the Joker say anything?"

Jason avoided Dick's gaze. "We were in the warehouse a long time. He told me lots of things. Told me you loved me. Said he could tell."

"Of course I do. I'd do anything for you. We're family." Dick stared at him, incredulous and beginning to panic. "What did he do to you, Jason?" He stepped closer. "Jason?" he whispered.

Jason leaned in, speaking in Dick's ear. "He said he was lonely. He kept me in there a long time." His voice wavered. "And I've been gone a long time, too, you know? You think you missed me, but you don't know how I got through it. The warehouse." He touched Dick's mouth with his, a light caress. "The whole time I thought about you. Wished he was you. Your face, your body." He circled his mouth just above Dick's, slow and dreamlike, breath puffing warm against his skin. "Please," he breathed. "I was still sane when I died. Because you were with me." He pressed his mouth to Dick's again.

Dick's brain was slow, couldn't catch up or didn't want to. He was distracted by Jason's mouth, soft, full lips pressing against his, asking Dick to open to him—Jason's body pushing into him, erection obvious, stiff and urgent, grinding into Dick' stomach—

Dick had waited years for this thing inside him to die, kept it trapped and still inside him. His body contracted with want, a slow roll that swamped him. He grabbed handfuls of thick dark hair in his fists, pressing closer, gasping, rutting—

_He's hurt and scarred, so broken. And you, you're no better than a _rapist_—than the _Joker_—_

Dick stumbled backward, clutching his stomach. "I'm not. I'm not." His back hit the wall and he sank to the floor.

Jason tried again. Dick didn't fight him, but he didn't respond.

After Jason gave up, head bowed in his hands, Dick led him to the bedroom. Jason curled up and fell asleep almost immediately.

Dick slept on the couch. Though sleep wasn't really an accurate description.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jason awakened and slipped into the bathroom. He relieved himself but he didn't flush, not yet. He didn't want to awaken Dick. He washed his hands, then used a finger and toothpaste on his teeth.

From his back pocket, he slipped out a small case. In it was a syringe filled with liquid. He looked at himself in the mirror. Dick hadn't allowed himself to succumb last night, but Jason always had backup plans. This thing with Dick was in itself an alternative plan.

Afterward in the living room, Jason found pen and paper and scribbled Dick a note.

_Maybe I'm just afraid of facing Bruce, I don't know. He's—you know how he is. You're right, I need to tell him, but I need to do this alone. I'll be back. We need to talk._

_Feel better._

_Jason_

He read over his handiwork and nodded, satisfied it had the right tone. Dick was motionless on the couch, right arm flung overhead, showing even more of the painful looking bruises. They shaded from blue to plum to almost black, creeping across part of his chest and under a nipple.

Jason stood over him, watching. Dick was good to look at, sure, dark hair cropped close to his head and wide muscled shoulders tapering to a small waist. But it was the bruises Jason couldn't tear his gaze from.

They looked awful. They were because of him.

No. the Joker was still alive. That was Bruce's fault, and so was this.

_Dick could have died yesterday._

He shook his head, irritated. Dick was no lightweight, he wouldn't go down that easy.

Jason could move silently when he wanted, and right now he wanted. He slipped out of Dick's apartment, ignoring the twinge of_—_what, remorse?

Maybe he didn't want to leave.

_Screw that. You can't think like that, not ever._

He left the apartment, turning the corner after a block and reaching the lot where he'd parked his motorcycle. He'd change and head to the Rusty Nail, where Tyler Branam's east quarter drug trade flourished.

Time for the next phase of his plan.

He was back at Dick's that night, sometime after Bruce had joined him in the fight against the Fearsome Hand of Four. He knocked at the door, and after a long while Dick opened it. His face was slack, his eyes sleepy. Perfect.

Jason stepped inside the doorway and reached for the back of Dick's head, grabbing a fistful of short, thick hair in his fist. He slammed his mouth over Dick's, tongue sweeping inside and kissing him roughly. Dick moaned, sagging against him. Jason turned them around, pushing Dick's back against the wall to the right of the door.

"Wanted you for so long," Jason panted into Dick's mouth. "Since before all the shit that happened to me." He sank to his knees on the carpet and looked up at Dick.

Dick's eyes were at half-mast and all pupil. The drug was working.

Jason didn't want to think about that. He was off balance after seeing Bruce again, hearing Bruce offer to help him.

_Help me. Right._

Dick wore another pair of sweats, no underwear. His legs were spread, his chest moving as he panted. Jason reached with both arms, sliding his hands up over Dick's torso, over hard curved muscle to the dusky, vulnerable nipples. He rubbed them in tandem, both fingers working, pinching. Jason's face pressed against Dick's thighs beneath the sweats. He bit him through the cloth, heard Dick gasp above him.

Jason pulled the sweats down slow, slow, exposing the cut of hip, the soft hair below Dick's navel. He licked his lips and yanked the pants over Dick's knees. His cock was purple, curved and stiff over his trembling abdomen.

Jason breathed in deep and sucked him down. He felt the head at the back of his throat and swallowed, trying to stuff him further down his throat. He'd wanted this. Waited so long.

Above him, Dick's warm, groggy eyes opened wide. He grabbed the back of Jason's head and shoved, hips writhing, stomach muscles tightening and bunching. Jason took it all, opened wider. He couldn't breathe. It didn't matter. His mouth moved frantically, sucking and licking Dick's cock, creating a vacuum over the head and pulling hard. Dick started to slide down the wall. Jason tried to hold him, keep him from sinking further. His hands moved around, fingers digging into Dick's round, tight ass. Fucking gorgeous. Jason moaned. He stuffed his middle finger into Dick's hole without warning.

The pressure of Dick's fingers on Jason's shoulders increased. They felt like iron grips. Dick panted loudly, out of control. His hips jutted out from the wall. Come spurted from him, thick, rhythmic spurts splattering Jason's face.

Dick's body sagged against the wall. "I love you, Jason," he said, sweet and utterly unselfconscious.

_The drugs,_ Jason reminded himself. He buried his face in Dick's warm thigh.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

He left Dick perching on the wall of the building, surveying the city. Dick told him he felt free out there, whether or not he was on patrol.

He'd thought he'd done it. Killed the Joker, killed Bruce. Himself. He should have known. None of them were easy to kill. They'd all be dead by now otherwise.

There were things Jason refused to look at, afraid of what they meant. Things having to do with himself and Dick. Himself and Bruce. He had the feeling he'd never be able to look, not until he did this one last thing. Cleared the slate, finish what he'd started.

He had to. It burned his insides until he couldn't think. He had to get rid of it.

_It's called self-destruction, dumb ass_, he told himself, and knew it still changed nothing.

He had recordings. Of himself and Dick.

Even to his own cynical eyes, Dick was heartbreaking—confused, sweet. Fucked out. He had one recording where Dick had repeated Bruce's name over and over. Like Dick realized he'd done something wrong, though not what, and Bruce's name was a prayer and an answer all in one.

Bruce was scheduled for a function that night. Jason followed him there, to the place where people wore smooth, expensive clothes, expensive perfume sweetening the air. Jason didn't think they'd even let him in. He stopped Bruce at the entrance.

The look on his face.

Bruce followed him back out to the parking lot, his mouth a tight, irritated line failing to hide the despair he felt whenever he saw Jason.

Jason held out the phone. On the screen, one of the recordings played. The one with Dick repeating Bruce's name. Bruce blanched, then steeled himself. He made himself watch. Jason knew what it was. Punishment and reminder.

"I drugged him when he wouldn't cooperate. I got a special drug. Put it in his toothpaste. You remember the train station, don't you? Dick was hurt worse than he let on. You didn't realize, did you? Just another case of you ignoring those you claim to love." Jason tapped his chin, pretended to think. "At first he didn't even suspect he was drugged. He thought his injuries were making him feel bad." He leaned closer. Bruce's eyes were narrowed, his nostrils flaring. He held himself under control by the thinnest of threads, Jason saw. "He's okay now. Drug free, but he doesn't want you to see him. He's ashamed after what he did, taking advantage of me." Jason's voice barely wobbled.

"You were my son," Bruce said, voice breaking on the last word. "We were family."

"And you know, as much as he wants to make it all right with you and ask your forgiveness, he won't. Do you know why?" Jason leaned in closer. "Because he can't live without me now. He can't let me alone, Bruce." He looked Bruce dead in the eyes. "Just like the Joker didn't let me alone."

"The Joker's not a child molester," Bruce said, but his face shattered anyway.

Jason sneered at him, couldn't help himself. "You're sure about that? No, you're not. Because the Joker does whatever he thinks will hurt the most!"

Bruce's face was impassive again, as if he'd never broken. "Why, Jason?" He said it almost too low to hear.

Jason held up a finger. "I'm here to teach you the meaning of vengeance. According to you, the Joker doesn't deserve death even though he killed me. So I'm just wondering… where does that resolve of yours end? Do I deserve death for taking Dick from you?" He shrugged. "Probably not. He's not dead, after all, except to you."

Bruce's fist in his face was fast and powerful. Jason didn't fight it. He lay on the ground while Bruce beat him. Somehow it felt right, all the blood and pain, but then Bruce stopped. His fist hovered in front of Jason's face.

It began to shake.

"Don't stop," Jason whispered. He began to cry.

"What are you?" Bruce rasped.

Jason looked up at Bruce's face and past, to the stars blazing in the night sky high above Bruce's head. "I'm something you helped make."


End file.
